


Tale Foundry Weekly Prompts

by I_prefer_the_term_antihero



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aztec influences, Christmas, Evil Queen - Freeform, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Gothic, Horror, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Inspired by The Tell-Tale Heart, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Prompt Fill, Robot, Satire, Sci fi short story, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Short Story, Tale Foundry, realistic fiction, sci fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28211712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_prefer_the_term_antihero/pseuds/I_prefer_the_term_antihero
Summary: All the works I've written, and will write, for Tale Foundry's weekly prompts!Their word limit is 350, so each story will be very short! Each weekly story will be a "chapter" here!Prompts used so far:I Left You Something(Dec 13th-19th)—"To Save Me From Tears" (Horror)By the Fire(Dec 20th-26th)—"The Walk" (Sci-fi)Reaching into the Maw(Dec 27th-Jan 2nd)—"The Goddess' Teeth" (Aztec, Horror)Skin in the Game(Jan 3rd-9th)—"Play the Price" (Sci-fi/Fantasy)Map to Nowhere(Jan 10th-16th)—"Destiny's Arrival" (Satiric Fantasy), "The Empty X" (Realistic), "Hope in the Stars" (Fantasy)It Was An Accident(Jan 17th-23th)—"Backyard Fireworks" (Fantasy)In the City of Dust(Jan 24th-30th)—"Children of Stardust" (Sci-fi)In the Quiet of Fresh Snow(Jan 31st-Feb 6th)—"Wounded Wanderer" (Realistic, Poetic prose)Your Heart in My Hands(Feb 14th-20th)—"The Empty Cavity" (Fantasy, Horror)I Swore an Oath(Feb 21th-27th)—"Til' Touchdown Brings Me 'Round Again" (Realistic)
Relationships: Original Male Character & Original Female Character, Original Male Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 11
Kudos: 1





	1. To Save Me From Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I left you something.”
> 
> I stared at the words, horror striking my face. But it wasn’t the words that left me horrified…it was the name attached.
> 
> As my eyes circled it I could only think feebly: it couldn’t be her…because she was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my story for [Tale Foundry‘s prompt the week of Dec 13-19](https://thetalefoundry.com/2020/12/13/writing-group-i-left-you-something/)! The prompt was “I left you something” and their word limit was 350. 
> 
> [Here's the link](https://thetalefoundry.com/2020/12/13/writing-group-i-left-you-something/#comment-12831) to the actual version I submitted to Tale Foundry!!
> 
> This was so much fun! I really loved the prompt, and reading others works, and the word limit was actually very helpful!! I hope to do more!!
> 
> This story was actually read on the stream!! :O :O [Here's](https://thepsycheofbrokenthings.tumblr.com/post/638453608353071104/writing-group-i-left-you-something) the link to the post I made about that! And [Here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tKYeKmNZp8) just the link to the stream itself! Mine is at about 1:15.00!!
> 
> If you could comment on this that would mean more to me than you can imagine!!

“I left you something.”

I stared at the words, horror striking my face. But it wasn’t the words that left me horrified…it was the name attached.

As my eyes circled it I could only think feebly: it couldn’t be her…because she was dead.

She died three weeks ago with a knife in her chest, and a gash on her head.

Now her ghost was sending me a gift.

And the box, wood and less than a foot long, was thumping. Like some monster was knocking to get out.

Surely monsters didn’t come in this size.

(Why did the thumping sound familiar?)

Thump. Thump. Thump--

I threw the note and rushed into the hall, into the elevator, into the lobby, into the frigid rain, the sound echoing through my head.

It was almost Christmas; the streets were littered in joy and light. The antithesis to my current state.

That’s what made it all the stranger. Why would a corpse send me a gift when it wasn’t even Christmas?

I don’t know how long I wandered the streets, questions pecking at my head, until I was unable to avoid the horrible, inexplicable resolve to open the box.

The edge of the lid pressed against my thumb, it creaked like a vampire’s coffin, and I braced myself for a creature to jump out and maul me.

What I saw was much worse.

Sitting in that pretty little box…was a heart.

A heart, lined with veins, bloody, and…beating. As if enchanted by magic, but last I checked that doesn’t exist.

I resisted the urge to vomit. …And then I didn’t resist.

Was it hers? I backed against the wall, horror pummeling me again. It couldn’t be, because, after throwing her head against the cabinet, I drove a knife into her chest where that beating hailed from. She was a cheating bitch, after all.

I tried all day to hide it, but I couldn’t muffle the sound, so the very next day I gave it away. I’d leave someone else with the horror.

Later that day I overheard them say someone anonymously left an empty box.


	2. The Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you celebrate Christmas when you're lonely and in the middle of space?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt this week was “By the Fire."
> 
> [Here's](https://thetalefoundry.com/2020/12/20/writing-group-by-the-fire/#comment-13026) the link to the version I submitted to Tale Foundry!!
> 
> The word limit was definitely a hinderence on this one, as it sci fi requires a bit more technical explanation which I just didn’t have the words for...
> 
> If you could comment or reblog this that would mean more to me than you can imagine!!

Christmas lights roamed the ceilings, little trees waited behind every corner, and outside a star was dying.

The years weren’t comprised of days three-six-five, for they circled no sun. There was no December twenty-fifth here, but people celebrated Christmas all the same.

One passenger, however, shivered under a blanket by a monitor, the light of the star outside shining from the display onto her face.

They said she was too young to travel the stars.

She said she didn’t have much choice.

A robot, something like a butler to her, walked in the open door.

“May I join you, miss?”

In lieu of a response she asked softly: “Is it morbid that I think death like this is beautiful?”

He arrived at her side, replying, “There’s nothing more sacred than a beautiful death. Personally, I think the star would be honored.”

As speakers inside played a long forgotten hymn about angels, she wondered if her wings were made of metal, or of wax.

“I’d…I’d like to go for a walk,” she said softly.

“The crew said you shouldn’t, miss.”

“And what do you say?”

He paused. “…I’ll get your suit.”

Something foreign crossed her features; it might have been called a “smile” once, on another world.

After much laborious preparation she floated weightless, with nothing but a thin chord tying her back to the ship.

Space is more than cold, and if a single finger of the nothing reached in and touched her skin she would die, but as she lifted her outer visor…the warmth of the star flitted onto her face.

As she closed her eyes she smelled smoke and pine, and she was sitting on the hearth, by the tree. Unwrapped presents littered the world, and her mother’s hand caressed her shoulder on the Earth of her childhood.

And though her oxygen came in bottled gasps on her back—out here, with nothing but her, and the the star, and the dark for company—she swore she could actually taste fresh air.


	3. The Goddess' Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Necalli thought faith was the most important thing. He believed that the sacrifices were necessary.
> 
> He was starting to think there was something more important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For "Reaching into the Maw." 
> 
> [Here](https://thetalefoundry.com/2020/12/28/writing-group-reaching-into-the-maw/#comment-13246) is the link to the actual version I submitted to tale foundry!!
> 
> This story was also read on the stream!! :O :O [Here](https://thepsycheofbrokenthings.tumblr.com/post/640234335041142784/guess-who-got-read-on-the-stream-again) is the link to post I made about that, with the time stamp and everything!! (Or simply [ here's](https://youtu.be/UutHOCsKmBc) the link to the stream! Mine's at 2:04.55!!!)

Necalli’s walking stick sounded against the barren landscape. He thought faith was the most important thing. He believed that the sacrifices were necessary. He was starting to think there was something more important.

This was not death, but transformation. He had tried to tell Eztli that. He believed it with the others.

But the look in her eyes had crawled into his and seared on his mind: the look of his little girl, afraid to die.

They had to pry them away from each other to the sound of both their screaming.

Fathers often prefer the thought of their daughters remaining pure, but he would have preferred to be at her marriage ceremony.

That night Icnoyotl had come to him. A man, once respected, but who most believed had lost greater understanding at the end.

Necalli would much rather take the advice of a madman than accept this was sanity.

So he did.

Icnoyotl had proclaimed there was still time to save his daughter, that the goddess hadn’t digested her yet.

He arrived at the mouth of the cave, put his face to the ground, and prayed.

Only the sacred virgins were permitted to see the divine. He knew he was already dead. But a prayer never hurt.

Was this what all the virgins felt; determination, spiked with the knowledge that they wouldn’t be exiting?

At the final chamber there were no doors or signs, nothing to indicate a goddess was just beyond the threshold.

He said another prayer with shaking hands, and entered.

There was…nothing here.

Then he looked up.

On the ceiling was a giant mouth, or more precisely, the entire ceiling was a mouth.

Circular rows of teeth ascending forever into blackness, like a thorny, living staircase, the purple flesh undulating with the symptoms of breath.

Clattering. Knees against stone.

“Oh goddess!” His words trembled, “I have come to you for the sake of my daughter, whom you swallowed last night. I know that you grant supplicant believers mercy. I plead with you that I may take her place.”

No sound but the drip of saliva.

Then—

“Father!”

Necalli looked up—

There was only blackness and teeth.


	4. Play the Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jianyu first received his tattoo he was beyond excited to be able to use magic, like he was living in a real-life fantasy world. Defeating monstrosities in the games was barely a price. But when he learns that magic is more than it appears, he has to do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the long version of my story for @talefoundry‘s prompt last week: “Skin in the Game”!! 
> 
> [Here's](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/01/04/writing-group-skin-in-the-game/#comment-13450) the link to the version I posted (to the public group) on Tale Foundry! ([Here's](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/01/04/writing-group-skin-in-the-game-private/#comment-13449) the link to it on the private group if you happen to have access!)
> 
> This story was super fun! I kinda want to try writing a longer thing for this universe now. 
> 
> I experimented this week. Usually I’ll write something towards the beginning of the supposed story, and have there be a reveal for both the character and the audience at the end. But on the livestream the week previous, Benji mentioned to someone that commonly does this that they should try writing something where the character has already found out, and try to wrap things up more neatly. Since I’m prone to do the same thing, I tried to take his advice here, and pick a scene from later in the story. I do think it made for a more interesting scene, but it also meant it was very hard to properly put this scene into 350 words, hence why it’s much longer here. 
> 
> If you could comment that would mean more to me than you can imagine!!

  
I knelt down in front of the bars, letting the creature come to me, dragging itself across the floor.

It looked like a mess of tangled limbs glued together into a ball; tentacles sprouting up indiscriminately and asymmetrically, of all shapes and sizes. Its whole body seemed a mess of different creatures, bumps like either warts or scales, the skin blue but not in a pretty way, rather like it was a discoloration, one giant eye with another eye encroaching on the sclera of the first.

“I wish I knew your name,” I murmured, reaching up to gently touch its ‘forehead.’ It closed its eye, as if sighing in comfort, and a few small tentacles wrapped gently around my hand.

Once, seeing this scene would have made me want to throw up. Once I thought they were monsters. They were hideous abominations to be sure, but not monsters. Never monsters.

Dust fell from the ceiling to thunderous applause above, and the creature scuttled closer to me.

“Shh it’s okay.” I said...though I knew it wasn’t okay, and wouldn’t be in the end, for either of us.

I once fought these creatures in the games upstairs, and saw no harm in killing them—in fact, rather a lot of good in ridding the world of them.

A man appeared at the end of the hall. “You’re up, kid.”

I gave a meaningful nod.

He walked away, and I grabbed my lance from its resting place on the wall.

The creatures grunted and one even seemed to half-gargle _Don’t go._

I did.

I couldn’t save them in as much as I couldn’t save myself. But maybe, just maybe, there were others I could save.

I ascended the stairs, arriving at the hallway before the ring, lined in metal and dried blood.

I’d fought and won in these games many times before. My heart hadn’t pounded like this in a while.

Though, soon I found a throbbing pain radiating through my arm more than this, and I grimaced, trying and failing not to stumble against the wall.

I rolled up my sleeve, revealing a glowing tattoo of a rose—(a rose, for my mother)—upon my skin, once tan, that had started to turn green, thorns sprouting up from it.

These tattoos were the price of passage into this world. At first ‘price’ didn’t seem an apt descriptor. In addition to allowing us to enter this world, they gave their bearer powers beyond the natural—(depending on the individual and the form the tattoo took)—like some real-life wizard or superhero. The only trade off, it seemed, was the bearer had to play in these games. Again, not really a trade off when the prize was an omnipotent wish, and the enemies were those monstrosities, which a) were not hard to kill, and b) nobody wanted roaming around.

It seemed.

Not today. Today I wouldn’t be using any magic, out of principle.

When the pain subsided I picked up my lance, nodded to the keeper of the gate, and set out into the ring with determination in my eyes, and applause at my back.

“We have a challenger in our midst!” The announcer cried.

Most people simply fought the mindless monsters when it was their turn in the ring. But one could use their yearly turn to challenge a particular person or being, if they so desired. It was rare because most would rather fight the monsters and live, than ask for something harder, which they might just not come back from.

Maybe we all should have realized that’d be better.

“Tell us, who is it you challenge?”

The crowd waited with bated breath, and I reveled in it. Having tens of thousands of people waiting on my word—(and a shocking word it would be)—didn’t feel too shabby. I waited for longer than necessary before turning my gaze, raising my hand, and pointing straight through the ranks to a woman seated an ivory canopied throne in the middle of everyone.

The crowd caught their breath.

The Queen stood, a vision in white, her hair falling about her like silk. She didn’t look angry…she didn’t look like anything.

“But! My boy!” the announcer spluttered.

“My dear,” the queen spoke into the microphone—(she was at the announcer’s side before any of us realized she’d moved)—her voice soft and sweet, but clear and carrying; “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t hurt me.” I grinned. “Just fight me.” I tossed my lance to my other hand. “I came to fight monsters. I’m asking you to _give me one_.”

That was enough. Her dress flowed like a puddle of water as she stepped calmly down the many stairs. When she reached the bottom the guards offered her weapons. She didn’t want them. She didn’t need them.

“We have,” the announcer cleared his throat, “Jianyu from Earth…against our Queen!”

Cheering, somehow passionate and unsure at the same time.

Before we could dispense with pleasantries, or customary bows of respect, an ice spike jutted up from the ground in front of me, which I narrowly missed. A snow blast, an onslaught of ice spears followed.

I was glad I’d done at least some training for this, but I still felt about forty percent prepared, and was quickly bleeding from multiple places, and shivering.

Power wasn’t looking so bad at the moment. I wanted to beat her on my own merits—(something almost no one did here)—rather than her lie. But it was still mine, right? I just had to beat her, didn’t I?

No. That wasn’t the point. I didn’t intend to beat her—nor did I think I could, even if I had a decade of training.

I leaned back further than I realized my back could bend, playing limbo as a snow sword, which almost grazed my nose—(you know, like you see in those movies, it was pretty epic). As I stood back up I aimed my lance, not at her, but at her dress.

At some pointed she traded her slim dresses for ones that were much bigger and poofier. Once I learned the truth of the world I lived in, I had a suspicion about why. This whole challenge was merely giving myself the opportunity to confirm said suspicion in front of the entire world, and pray to god I was right.

It ripped cleanly, the fabric falling limp on the dirt.

Hiding beneath the fabric were not two human legs, but rather a writhing mess of white tentacles, a number of them with spines along them that looked like ice, others even covered in them. She looked like Ursula, if Ursula’s top half was that of a petite, pretty, put-together queen, and her bottom half was a lot less symmetrical, with a lot more tentacles, or much more, in various shapes and sizes, with curled and writhed of their own accord…I guess, think Ursula, but much more Lovecraftian Horror.

I looked into her face, and I couldn’t have been more clear if a mask had fallen and shattered in the dirt.

She looked like something now.

“Ladies and gentlecreatures!” I held out my hands in an _Are-you-not-entertained?_ way. “I present to you,” I held out my hand to gesture to her, “ _your Queen_.”

I let the gasping settle for a moment, before pulling back my sleeve and revealing my own personal horror so they could do it all over again.

“These tattoos. They don’t seem so bad, do they? They grant us passage into this world, they aren’t too bad to look at…oh, and they give us power, make us heroes and warriors, or whatever. But did we ever stop to think maybe there’s something bigger going on? That magic is supposed to come with a price? …What do they _really_ do?

“Those monsters we fight,”—I pointed to one trapped behind the bars on the other side of the ring—“Did we ever wonder what they are? Where they came from?” A breath. Then a shout: “ _They’re what becomes of us_!”

‘Gasping’ doesn’t really cover the sounds that rent the air.

“They’re US!” The words ripped through my throat. “Those grotesque things! _That’s_ the price of our magic: to become a mindless monstrosity, in the end, to be hunted down for sport, and killed with ease, and without honor, in the games we once loved! No price is too much, for magic, yeah?” I turned towards the queen. “But only a _swindler_ ”—spit flew from my mouth at the word—“omits the price before you buy the product!”

Something more had lighted in the queen’s eyes. Where they once were blank as still water, now they held a sort of glint. ‘Demonic’ or ‘evil’ feel too strong…It was a rage, an incensed look, but with a certain amount of her own revelry to it.

_“Fool!”_ Her tongue was forked, her voice, louder than I’d ever heard it, coming from the back of her throat. “They were merely the _simpletons_ who couldn’t handle _greatness!_ These marks are but the determinates of one’s worth!” Her voice became distorted, her tongue long and forked and lashing at me.

A tentacle reached out from beneath that dress to grab my arm, twisting it until the weapon fell from my grasp.

My arm…or…what had a second ago been an arm.

Right now it resembled something much more like a vine, thorns littering it the whole way through.

I should have been horrified, but my heart rose as if I was on a rollercoaster, excited for the drop.

Perhaps I would be using my magic after all.

I wouldn’t do things her way, no. But if I could fight her with, not my magic, but my own simple monstrosity, that which was meant to be the price of her little trade, well that’d work just fine.

Recognition and horror dawned on her face. She tried to unravel her tentacle from mine but she wasn’t fast enough; I ripped mine out of her grasp. She shrieked in pain as my thorns dug into her.

“‘Greatness’? Personally I’d rather be Snow White and die of the queen’s poison, than the evil queen who’d rather eat a girl’s heart than realize she’s ugly. Or better yet—” I wrapped the vine around her middle, pulling her close and breathing in her face; “Feed the queen’s poison right back to her.”


	5. Destiny's Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince expected to find a trapped princess at the top of the tower...but he might not get what he's expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Map to Nowhere."
> 
> This week was rather unique in that I loved the prompt so much, and was at such a loss for what to pick to write about, I ended up writing four attempts at/stories for this prompt! This is the first one, and the one I ultimately decided to post. I'll probably post at least one more of those attempts here though! 
> 
> [Here's](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/01/11/writing-group-map-to-nowhere/#comment-13680) the link to the version I posted to (the public group) on the Tale Foundry website! (And [Here's](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/01/11/writing-group-map-to-nowhere-private/#comment-13679) the link to the version I posted in the private group, if you happen to have access to that!)

The prince climbed, an epic soundtrack playing in his head. He grabbed the final brick, tumbling into the window.

“Your destiny has arrived, Princess!” He made sure to swoosh his hair and smile. 

But, as he opened his eyes…no princess was there. If anyone had ever been here, it’d been a long while. 

He ran his finger along the dresser, dust coating it, and frowned. 

He pulled out his map and frowned.

Shoving the map into his satchel and pressing open the door angrily, he descended the spiral staircase, looking around for any sign of her. The only eyes that greeted him were those of portraits. 

“Princess?” He called to the empty tower. “I was told I’d find you here! Only the bravest of knights could scale the tower, and slay the dragon! Well there was no dragon, but I did scale the tower, and I am in fact a very brave knight!”

A laugh echoed throughout the chamber. 

“Princess!” He ran faster. 

“Princess? Oh, no, dear. But you flatter me,” a feminine voice spoke from the shadows. “You’re…cute.”

He skidded to a halt at the bottom.

“Well, I prefer handsome…but I’ll take it.”

“You really think that princesses sit waiting in towers for rescuers, beset by dragons, and happily marry the first man who enters?”

“Well…” His eyes darted around. “I read it.”

“Is that all?” She laughed, her heels sounding around him, though he couldn’t see her. “It’s a cute story, but nothing more. You really shouldn’t believe everything you read.

“If anything I think it’s bait to lure in innocent…idiot princes like yourself to their demise.”

He scoffed.

“No, wait—” She held up a finger, pausing as the moon crossed her, revealing youthful, but too pale, features, canine teeth elongated. “That’s exactly what it is.

“So what’ll it be, pretty boy? Become my food, or join us bloodthirsty monsters?”

He squealed and ran back up the stairs. 

“That wasn’t one of your options!”

She flashed up and pinned him to the ground with her heel. Her breath smelled like iron. “I’ll ask again. Friend or food?”


	6. The Empty X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he found a letter from his late father, along with a treasure map, he thought he was in for a good old fashioned adventure. But perhaps that's not the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my other attempts for Tale Foundry‘s prompt many weeks ago: “Map to Nowhere.” (The same prompt I wrote “Destiny’s Arrival” for.)
> 
> I liked this prompt a lot, and saw there were a lot of different directions I could take it. I ended up writing 4 different attempts for the prompt. (Actually, technically I wrote 5 attempts, because I also wrote a Promised Neverland fic for this prompt too, haha! [Here’s the link to that!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29017305)) It took me a while to post this because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post my other attempts, and I had to polish this one up at least a little bit. 
> 
> The perspective is a little funky on this one, as well as there are some things that might not make a ton of sense so apologies for that. I wrote it fast, and just wrote whatever came out at the time. It was kinda a throw away story, haha. But I thought I’d post it anyways, because I did like the first character’s perspective quite a bit.

“We’re here!!” I laughed, half sobbing, almost maniacal, throwing a fist into the air—(which all would agree was a bad idea, as my pits were rank, not to mention the fact that my shirt still smelled like smoke on the side).

“Yaay…” my friends groaned, grunted, and yawned behind me.

I ran up to the spot marked on the map, and started digging with the vigor of a mole that’d found recently some steroids.

And I kept digging...but there was nothing there.

I wasn’t willing to go home until we’d dug up as much of the area, as deep as we could. We even called over a construction crew at one point. I highly doubt they usually dug up areas such as these for free, but, as the cliché goes, we “seemed like nice kids” so they did it for us, as well as brought us Mcdonalds, and shared stories from other construction sites they’d been to. (Not saying they were fun stories, they just shared them.)

After this place was reduced to a pit, fit for a supervillain to fill with lava and throw heroes and insubordinate henchmen into...There was nothing there. No treasure. No person, or animal, or note. Nothing to say my father was here, and that he’d left something for a sixteen-year-old me.

Over the course of those few days I checked the map like Santa checks his list, except I did it a lot more than twice.

There had to be some mistake, right? My dad wouldn’t send me on some wild goose chase beyond the grave…would he?

Half of my friends looked at me with sympathy, and the other glared at me. After a final visit to a local diner—(and the antique shop for Mackenzie. She loves that crap, thirteenth we’d been to. ...Maybe that was a sign)—some dejected milkshake-sipping, and persuasion from the glarers…it was time to go home.

That night, after a quick glance at my snoring friends, I walked a ways from the tent, and dialed my phone, my stomach quite possibly sitting in my dial-hand.

“Mom?”

“How goes the adventure, sweetie? Did you find it?”

“Umm...not...not so great. We ended up where the map told us to go but…”

“Yeah?”

“...There’s nothing here.”

“Nothing? You’re sure?”

“Too sure.”

“…No note or anything? ?”

“Nothing.”

“Aww gosh, honey I’m so so sorry.”

I kicked a pebble in front of me.

“Well I’ll make soup for when you get home. The chili you and your friends like so much.”

A small smile reached my face. “That’d be great, Mom.”

A moment of silence.

“…But you had an adventure though, right?”

I paused, looking up at the stars. “Yeah…Yeah we did.”

* * *

Mrs. Young hung up the phone. She knew this day was coming: the day when her son would find the x on the map was nothing more than that.

She walked up to the picture of their family together. 

“Well it was fun while it lasted, ey Cutie pie?” she said to the image of her husband.

She knew it wasn’t nice to forge her dead husband’s handwriting, but she also knew he would have forgiven her. He would have liked to give his son an adventure. If he’d been there, maybe it wouldn’t have been half as fun—there’s a messiness of being alive, after all. She hoped his ghost was watching, grinning giddily the whole time.

She took a step forward, admiring the painting beside it; the exquisite flowers and pavilions, the signature at the bottom, and smirked to herself.

Well, it was nothing like the heists they used to pull back when, but at least she could give their son a taste of adventure.


	7. Hope in the Stars (Victor's Story)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my other attempts for Tale Foundry‘s prompt many weeks ago: “Map to Nowhere.”
> 
> This is the same prompt I wrote “Destiny’s Arrival” and “The Empty X” for.
> 
> I liked this prompt a lot, and saw there were a lot of different directions I could take it. I ended up writing 4 different attempts for the prompt. (Actually, technically I wrote 5 attempts, because I also wrote a Promised Neverland fic for this prompt too, haha! [Here’s the link to that!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29017305)).
> 
> My apologies that it took me so long to post this. It’s from my original novel series and I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable sharing it, especially since not everyone’s reviews of it were entirely positive. I thought I’d just post it for now at least. Beware that it's more than likely I'll take it down later. I hope you like it for now at least.

Death hung like a shawl over my shoulders, ghosts clinging to my coattails as I entered the flat, the bitter wind at my back.

The nanny said Peter was perfectly lovely. I thanked her in coin alone.

I should have said hello to my son. Instead I leaned against the wall, putting a fist on my forehead, as if applying pressure would force the grief out.

They said God works things out for our good. Wasn’t this proof of the opposite?

A beat. Two.

Then—

Crying in the next room. Right on schedule.

Something in my chest tore, not for him, but—(selfish bastard that I was)—for me.

She should be here to hold him, to sigh, and smile, and sing to him. He needed her. I needed her.

Hand against the wall, I stumbled into the next room. The basinet sat in the moonlight, the baby far too pale, and helpless, and human.

(He took after me too much.)

When he saw me he cried harder.

“That’s what I thought.” I scoffed, smiling sardonically.

I created a flame on the tip of my finger, changing its color as I trailed it in the air, the pretty light distracting him from his tears.

“She was nice, wasn’t she?” I shook the flame out, resting a hand on the side of the basinet. “…Nicer than me, I’ll bet.”

He gurgled.

I cast my gaze out the window.

Most new fathers would spend the early nights insomniacs and rhapsodisiacs. Their basic needs strained by the presence of a thing just learning it had those needs, and more vocal about them. All the while hope surely strummed their heartstrings; the prospect of possibility-populated new life for both of them.

I was used to not sleeping. How many nights had I spent, purposely sleepless and hungry, creating monsters in my lab?

It was the loss that crawled beneath my bones. New life, to me, was nothing more than the deadest of ends.

“What do you think Peter? Where would you like to go?”

He moved his hand aimlessly. I followed his finger, which pointed to the second star on the right.

“Figures.” I gave that broken smile. “Me too.”


	8. Backyard Fireworks (Victor's Story)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was my piece for Tale Foundry‘s prompt a few weeks ago “[It was an Accident](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/01/18/writing-group-it-was-an-accident/#comment-13888)” ([Private](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/01/18/writing-group-it-was-an-accident-private/#comment-13887))
> 
> This was another one I wasn’t sure I wanted to post, as its also for my novel series. But I’ve decided I’ll just post them for now. 
> 
> I hope you like it!! I was trying to experiment with something funny that week.

“That was very irresponsible of you, son.” My dad’s back was to me as he observed the scorched tree out the window.

“‘Irresponsible’?! Are we just gonna gloss over the fact that I ACCIDENTALLY MADE LIGHTNING SHOOT OUT OF MY FINGERS?! Is that not of NOTE to anyone?!”

My mother looked at him. Their silence made me want to scream.

“Sounds like standard puberty stuff to me.” Lizzie snorted from the corner.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. “Aren’t you supposed to be on MY side?”

“I didn’t promise anything.”

I gave an exasperated sigh.

“And you’re sure you didn’t imagine it?” My mother asked gently.

“No! Lizzie, you were there, you saw it, right?!”

“Yeah but people don’t talk about ‘mass hysteria’ for nothing. More than one person can have the same delusion at once.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She was _there_. How could she deny it?

“I’m not delusional! I—I felt it!” I raised my hand, “I could try to replicate it here if I didn’t want to set the house on fire! Unless you’d _prefer_ that!”

“Is this the first time this has happened?” My mother stood.

I took a step back, making a face. Not, more questions along the crazy train, not ‘How is this possible’, but ‘Is this the first time?’!

“You want there to be a second or third?! Lightning. Shot out of. My fingers. This is an insane thing if it happens one time! Let alone a second or third!”

“And this has nothing to do with your experiments? Alchemy?” My father turned around.

“Alchemy is the study of transforming metals, not the study of making shit fly out of your fingers!”

“Language, Victor.”

“Yeah, I’m using it to convey my point! What’s going on here?! Because last I checked this was Earth, not some fairytale world where people _can just accidentally summon lightning_ The world is based in _science_ , not magic!”

I looked to them for any explanation, even a remark that I’d lost it, but they remained silent. I couldn’t tell which of us was craziest.


	9. Children of Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They thought they'd find something alive out here. Floating helplessly in the stars, running out of oxygen, Alya started to think there was only death out here. But maybe they weren't wrong to hope after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the prompt "[In the City of Dust](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/01/25/writing-group-in-the-city-of-dust/#comment-14119)." ([Private](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/01/25/writing-group-in-the-city-of-dust-private/#comment-14118))
> 
> This one was read on the stream too!! Which was super duper exciting!! I thought I'd taken this prompt in a clever direction personally, and I was really happy that Benji was able to read it and seemed to agree :D [Here's the link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksvNq5VT0kY&pbjreload=101)!! My story is read at 17:20.

They thought they’d find something alive out here. It was half-mad; they knew—or maybe all the way. A city or kingdom might be nice. Dust and disappointment sent their greetings.

Even now their ship had been reduced to debris by a single speck of something.

Lance and Pete had survived too. But Pete’s oxygen was low from the start, and Lance had…tried not to panic. Alya remained; a lone traveler in an indifferent universe, floating endlessly in the dark.

It wasn’t so bad. She saw more of this callous, gorgeous universe in her lifetime than most would in ten. It wasn’t such a terrible way to go—suffocated by the stars.

Floating in a vacuum wasn’t something one could stop—untethered souls doomed to fly until oxygen spilled away—yet something took her hand, doing just that.

She shrieked, looking around wildly—

—And wonder overshadowed panic.

What was, moments ago, nothing more than a bland patch of space, now revealed itself a vast and vibrant nebula. The space fashioned in bursting color, with flourishes of kaleidoscopic fire, and dust puffs below like animals playing in grass—enough to cloudgaze in heaven itself. It coalesced into columns, like a promenade leading to an Ancient Greek temple, but lightyears long, and masoned of starlight.

Below her a coalition of dust waited—without any indication, she knew it was alive. The being lifted its “arm” towards her forehead, and wind brushed through her helmet.

“Are you lost?” Asked a gentle voice in her mind.

“I’m a long way from home, that’s for sure.”

“Can we help you get back? Or will you be alright on your own?”

“With about forty minutes to live I’m gonna say neither.”

“You would like to live?”

“Preferably.”

“Then…come. We shall make you like us.”

The being guided her, still holding her hand. This apparent, barren, cosmic wasteland teemed with life; a grand city in the stars, the dust itself forming both the place and its inhabitants.

A nebula: the cradle of stars.

“Far more than stars are born here, traveler. But you shall see soon enough.”


	10. Wounded Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow the trail of bloody pawprints in the snow if you dare, dear observer. Say a prayer for what you'll find at the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "[In the Quiet of Fresh Snow](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/02/01/writing-group-the-quiet-of-fresh-snow/#comment-14436)" ([Private](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/02/01/writing-group-the-quiet-of-fresh-snow-private/#comment-14435)). Also inspired by [this art piece](https://antihero-art.tumblr.com/post/623021814736683008/wounded-wanderer-click-for-better-quality) i made in my senior year of high school.

The world stilled. The landscape dressed in white; like purity, like walking down the aisle. Flakes drifted lazily upon the wind, little angel kisses aiming for pious children’s noses and tongues.

The forest accepted the snowy embrace, trees shushing themselves, bushes tucking in, the only sounds the flapping of wings, and lone branches snapping: the church bells of the forest.

A path braided among the trees, whether man or nature made, the snow denied answer. Paw prints carved themselves upon this path; a grand giveaway in a divine chase. Each dip in the snow held a stain, marring pristine white with deepest red, with the words: I am hurt. I am lost. I am alone.

A wolf stalked the path, head low, golden eyes forward and unblinking, steps steady and calculated, despite their scourge.

What could have wounded each of the wolf’s paws in turn: a human trap, a fight with a brother, or if it wandered into a field of thorns or some other pestilence…none had been in the forest to watch the tree fall.

The creature could easily have stopped, lay down his head to face fate, found the pain too much to bear, or thought painting the world with an arrow to his destination an inopportune move in the game of life. But, on these bloody paws, he endured. Whether there was a destination—a home, a mate, or just yesterday’s kill—waiting for him, or if this march was nothing more than a bloody promise to continue forward…the silence could only speculate.

The flakes drifted into his fur, peppering grey with white, but it could not cleanse his blight. He shook his ears of the flakes, but the cold’s talons were reaching for his bones.

Onlooking trees tapped each other with bare, broken branches, whispering pity, admiration, and bets. An owl gazed down with eyes of captured starlight, and only stared, knowing to speak would be blasphemy. The warless soldier’s only audience an amphitheater of ice, wood, and holy birds.

Yet the wolf paused, lifted his head, and looked over his shoulder.


	11. The Empty Cavity (Victor's Story)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "[Your Heart in My Hands](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/02/15/writing-group-your-heart-in-my-hands/#comment-14671)" ([Private](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/02/15/writing-group-your-heart-in-my-hands-private/#comment-14670)). This is the longer version of the story. 
> 
> This is another one for my original novel series. In addition to that, this is another one that was read on the [stream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3aj4cfBsK3M) too, which made me so happy!! 37:30.
> 
> Tw: Disembodied heart, suicidal thoughts

“I think you could be beautiful.” My voice was low, and that made it sound somehow madder. (Or maybe that was more due to the fact that I was talking to a corpse—worse, more than one, stitched together).

I trailed my fingers along the waxy arm, the stitches there mirroring the ones on mine. He was the only one I could show them to. The only one who wouldn’t question my scars, or judge me for making them. He knew I was gentle.

“Maybe? Could you do that for me?” I whispered into his ear. “Could you be something…beautiful? I’ve tried so many times and…” I exhaled. “Nothing ever comes to beauty. Only my monstrosity remains,” anger curved my tongue around the third word.

I lifted my head, casting my gaze into the cavity in his open chest, like throwing coins into a well. Then my eyes flicked to the heart on my table: limp, like some small alien torn apart for research. No mysteries left untold. 

Isn’t the loveliest mystery yet the thought that it could beat again? 

“I need you…” I closed my eyes, exhaling the words, “I need you to be beautiful.” 

My footsteps sounded against the floorboards as I met the heart—(I only stumbled slightly on my way)—as if I was about to bow, kiss its hand, ask it to dance.

I wrapped my fingers around it, soft, smooth, slimy, cold. I’d forgone my gloves for this part. I wanted to feel its grooves against my skin. I didn’t want to miss this—the putting together of life. The feeling was comforting somehow. Like a mug of hot chocolate on the coldest day: a soothing sensation spilling from my fingertips to my insides. This part. The heart. 

Was this how God felt, forming Adam of dust?

I know such a thought will likely send bile to the back of your throat but the “ew” factor of this situation had long since left me…if it had ever been there to begin with. I’ve always been fascinated by the human body. Its insides no less disgusting than its outsides—(and who’s to say? Perhaps they both are just as so). And the dead part of it all, well…I had no choice but to get used to that, didn’t I? It was all I was at the end of the day. (At least for now…I was trying to change that, after all).

I cradled it between my hands as if it was a frog I’d caught in the pond, and I’d like to bring it to show daddy. Slimy and gross, yes, but also small and precious, and altogether hard to catch. Harder still to hold onto. 

And for a moment, as I looked again into the depths of its chest cavity, where all the veins lie—like the cords of an automaton, waiting to be plugged in—(So why is the humanity of it the disgusting part? Isn’t it beautiful, the story just waiting to start?)—I couldn’t help but wish the heart in my hands were my own. Rip it out, lay it to rest in there. Replace his cold, still one for my immaculate, unkillable one. Such a beautiful end to my story. “And Death died at his own hands, but his heart lived on in his creation.” The poeticness of it almost brings tears to the eyes. (No? Well I guess poetry is subjective).

So so lovely. The thought of death. The thought of life. And loveliest of all, the thought of the two entwined. 

At least then I’d be doing something good. 

But I’d spent the last several months proving that was impossible. I’d have to settle for the life without the death. At least without mine. 

The cruel irony; that everyone else had to die, and Death could not. 

I leaned too close, singing a lullaby, one my mother used to sing—when I was young and beautiful too once (…or maybe I never truly was)—and gave the heart to the cavity like giving the ocean back a fish. I gently lifted my hand away, but kept my fingers in the air, using the preceding hand motions to connect each of the veins telekinetically and meticulously.

“I need you to be beautiful,” I whispered, and there was a darkness in my words, a hunger on the tip of my tongue. “Because if you’re not…” I lifted my head, looking into his lifeless face, sleepless monster gazing into unawakened darling. “I need you to make Death beautiful. Or else…I’m nothing but a monster.”


	12. Til' Touchdown Brings Me 'Round Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was a bitch.  
> I decided this when I found his pants on our carpet. His shoes. His belt. His shirt.  
> Our bed.  
> My wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "[I Swore an Oath](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/02/22/writing-group-i-swore-an-oath/#comment-14765)" ([Private](https://thetalefoundry.com/2021/02/22/writing-group-i-swore-an-oath-private/#comment-14764)). 
> 
> Warning: Swearing

She was a bitch.

I decided this when I found his pants on our carpet. His shoes. His belt. His shirt.

Our bed.

My wife.

I should have realized it sooner. Her shirts smelled like him, her hands felt far away, and she didn’t taste as sweet.

She was a cheating bitch.

When she said that she was sorry, that she loved me, I didn’t believe her.

All those flaws came to the surface. She interrupted all the time. She left jars open on the counter. On her worst nights she wouldn’t fall asleep to anything but Elton John.

She was an annoying, cheating bitch.

I told her to sleep at her friend’s house. When she cried and said “please” I shouted rather louder than I intended.

And I hated him.

And I hated him.

And I hated him.

She was mine, to have and to hold. Now I wasn’t sure if she was just the understudy to someone else’s role.

I ran my fingers over old photographs, knocking happy memories onto their faces.

A pause. Deep breaths.

A wedding day. Ours, once.

That dress. I told her it was cream, not white. She said it was her mother’s. I said it was ugly, and she said “Not as ugly as you” and we laughed.

And I loved her.

And I loved her.

And I loved her.

The phone, a while later. She picked up immediately.

She was a lying, cheating, annoying bitch.

But she was so passionate sometimes words just burst out of her. But she left jars open, because we both knew one sandwich wasn’t enough. But on her worst nights I kissed her hair and sang of how I could feel the love tonight.

And I made a vow.

On that day I said I may not be the man they thought I was at home, but I vowed that I would love her till I burned out my fuse alone, and we all laughed.

And till the day we die is not an eye for an eye.

She may be a bitch…but she was my bitch.


End file.
